Chances
by TheSummerWriter
Summary: They know each other from Silent Hill and its scars. Harry has Heather. James has Laura, but how can he care for her if he doesn't even care for himself?


Harry remembers James from Toluca Lake in Silent Hill.

They find each other again, but there isn't limping half-human half-beasts in the town streets, there isn't the screaming of sirens or a sharp blade dragging over walls and metal, but just the buzz of humans zooming past one another in a grocery store. Irritated, hungry, and restless, everyone wants to go home and eat and unwind from a long day of work and of school. Harry pushes his occupied cart towards the check-out stand, four year-old Heather is sitting on the shelf seat of the cart with her dolls. Her hair is short and blond, cheeks freckled, and her eyes are a beautiful brown.

Surly James is their clerk. He looks up from the magazine he'd been flipping through with disinterest to meet Harry's eyes on his own. No words, only an empathetic silence between them. Heather is experimenting different voices for different dolls, she only has two. She pretends that one of them is her daddy and the other is the clerk-man. Harry chuckles, James does an odd smile that looks more like a frown where his eyebrows seem to move in the same awkward direction as his lips, and both the Masons laugh.

"What time do you get off work?" asks Harry.

James didn't expect the question, he figures from the way the blond blinks as he scans the items and bags them easily, hands quick and easy, not needing to think to coordinate as the store clerk anymore, he just _is_.

"I'm leaving in thirty-five minutes." He mutters.

Harry sets a king-sized candy bar as the last item, winking at Heather. Heather grins. After packing everything in the trunk, they wait for James's shift to end. James didn't think he would wait for him all that time, so he's surprised when he walks out and sees Harry standing against his car patiently, Heather sitting cozily inside in the back with her half-eaten chocolate bar smeared on her cheeks. James ignores the tingling in his stomach, if it's anything, it must be hunger.

"I take the bus." James says, lighting a cigarette.

Harry grimaces.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" James raises his brow, pressing it to his lips and blowing.

"Those will kill you."

"I already feel dead."

Harry and James are sitting on a bench in one of the neighborhood parks. Heather and Laura are running around on the playground, sometimes playing tag and sometimes seeing who climbs the monkey bars better. Laura likes to swing herself upside and situate herself above the bars in a sitting position, like a queen on her throne. Heather is in awe, trying to pull it off. Harry didn't even know James had a daughter.

"She's adopted," He murmurs. "From Silent Hill."

"Heather is, too."

"Isn't that something." James breathes long and slow, the smoke clear and big, and then, gone. Harry snatches the cigarette and puts it out. James scowls at him.

"You should quit."

"You should mind your own business."

"Someone needs to take care of you." _Now that Mary isn't around._

James says nothing. He looks over at the girls. He has that same sadness in his eyes, in the posture he sits in; hunched and haunted and unhappy. Harry wishes that James could let go, but he understands that these things take time.

Harry drops James and Laura off at their house. They walk up to their doorstep, James fumbling his pockets for the keys and pressing them into the keyhole. When the door is pushed open, they finally hear Harry drive away. James almost rolls his eyes, but then he reminds himself that that is Laura's thing. He shuts the door behind them, peeling his green jacket off and tossing it on the couch.

"Do you like him?" asks Laura.

James stares at her.

"What?"

"Do you like him? Heather's dad?" She asks, more impatient.

"He's okay." James shrugs. "What does it matter? You like Heather, don't you?"

"You should stop pretending that you care about me, fartface," Laura scoffs. "Lying is mean."

She storms to her room. James wonders if she'll change when she turns sixteen at all. No, she'd be about the same, wouldn't she? He would have laughed, he would have smiled at the thought of teenage Laura giving him the same attitude, the same disrespect she does now, but he isn't who he used to be. Here, there is no happiness. He's empty, he's cold and hollow, and alone, and he may not have drowned in Toluca Lake that day Harry and he met, but he's drowning in the reality of his survival, in the reality of raising a child by himself.

James snatches a beer from the fridge, he goes out into the backyard, cracking the beer open and lighting a cigarette, and sinking into the pavement like a lounge chair as he forgets this world around him once more.

" _Maybe you think you can save me? Will you love me? Will you take care of me? Heal all of my pain, James_?"

"Angela…"

" _You can't do anything for anyone_ ," She spits. " _You could barely do it for yourself_!"

" _You're just like me_ ," Eddie smiles, " _A sick, disgusting piece of shit. Why don't you end it all, Jamesie? Why don't you join the after-fucking-party? It's a helluva one_."

James backs away from them, eyes wide and horrified. Angela scowls disdainfully at him. Eddie smirks knowingly at him. He turns away from them, running into darkness. There's nothing at the end of the darkness that he can see, but the fear is pulsing inside of him. His body is stricken with the same horror he felt that first time. He hears the scraping. _He's_ coming for him.

" _James_."

"Mary?"

He whips around wild-eyed to see his wife.

" _James_ …" She walks closer to him, hands reaching up to cup his face. He leans in, but she smacks him hard enough to send him back planting, his vision spinning. " _What are you doing to Laura_?! _What kind of man are you_?! I trusted you!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He cries out. "I'm doing all that I can, I swear, I just-"

"LIAR!" She roars, splitting and growing into the all too familiar figure of Pyramid Head, lifting his Great Knife and swinging it at his defenseless, lying body.

James doesn't have time to scream or feel the pain, he jolts awake and hides his face in his hands, he has to take Laura to school.

If Laura can sense James's apprehension, she doesn't say anything. As much as he hates it, she's sharp as a knife when it comes to reading him, or maybe he's more of an open book than he thinks. Either way, he sometimes entertains the idea of Laura being somewhat of a psychic. Maybe that was why he needed to take her out of Silent Hill, maybe that was why Mary and Laura bonded, because Laura wasn't like any other little girl. She's special. Maybe she's like Alessa?

Harry would know. Maybe that's why Heather and Laura are so close. James notices sometimes, if he pays attention. He notices that the girls don't have to talk to each other all of the time. They sit together, smiling and staring into each other's eyes, like they're already having a conversation, and it's _their_ conversation. No James, no Harry, nobody to listen in on what they say. They're each other's diaries.

"What happened to you?" Laura sneers. "You're giving me a headache, so quit it."

"Quit what?" asks James.

"Being weird and quiet, and not normal. Like sad. You're always sad."

James wants to frown, but he's so shocked from the dream, that he feels too numb to move anything but his legs and hands. How does that work?

James walks her to her classroom. There's all kinds of other children inside already, and Laura blows raspberries at the kids she doesn't like on her way to her desk. Joshua raspberries back.

"Do that again, and I'll box your face in the wall!" Laura snaps.

"Do it, Sunderland!" Joshua challenges.

James stares blankly. Their teacher, Mrs. Townshend, immediately gets between them when they charge at each other. She smiles softly, bright green eyes that are pretty and spirited, and her mouth moves into words that James doesn't really hear, all he thinks is that Laura has a pretty teacher. A pretty teacher with short brown hair, dressed in a long sleeve button up, a pencil skirt, heels; he can't help wondering what she looks like underneath.

"Mr. Sunderland?"

She's talking to him. He wasn't listening, he should feel guilty, but he feels entranced. Not by her words, but by her body.

"Yes?"

James can feel Laura's eyes rolling in shame, disgust, and _how freaking typical of you, James_. Maybe he should correct her. He should tell her to call him something like how Heather addresses Harry; _papa, poppy, dad, daddy_ … What other ways are there? It's been a long time since he's seen his own dad, his mom passed away when he was twenty-seven. He's thirty two now. Oh, Laura's teacher is talking again, maybe he should listen.

"I've been meaning to speak with you." She smiles small.

"I don't have a landline." He mutters, "Did you try the number for my store? That's the only number you can reach me in, when I'm handling the phone anyway…"

He can tell she's confused, or that she doesn't know what else to say. She's like Harry, James thinks. She's selfless and hardworking and she wants everyone to be safe and happy, but that can't happen, because James exists, and people like him aren't meant to be safe and happy.

"Laura's grades…" She decides. "They aren't the worst, but they could be better."

"She hates reading."

"It's important that she does read thirty minutes every night."

"Oh, she only has five books… Just the picture ones."

"Hmm, she could rent some in the school library. I was hoping I could talk to you after school about…"

James entertains himself with the idea of what their meeting after school could turn out like. He pictures pressing her to the wall, ripping her shirt open and her skirt up to her waist, pushing inside of her heat, touching her, feeling her, wondering what it'd be like to be with another warm body in that way again. Then, he's overcome with a dullness, a wave of nausea.

"Mr. Sunderland?"

"I get off work at six."

"Oh." She almost sounds defeated, but she smiles and says. "That can be arranged."

Laura gets a ride home with Heather. Harry works, but unlike James, he has a babysitter. Some Spanish woman named Cynthia or whatever, James hasn't met her, but he does wonder how Harry met her and how he managed to trust her with Heather. That man would give his heart, ripped from his chest still beating with his own hands as the weapon to any God, if it made his Heather safe and happy. James can't begin to fathom that.

"Laura has been having trouble with her classmates," Mrs. Townshend says, frowning. "I was wondering if her frustration has anything to do with… a situation at home."

"Situation at home? What kind of situation at home?" James murmurs. "Mrs. Townshend, are you thinking abuse?" _I never touch that kid, not even for a hug or holding her hand. No way, she'd hit me. Laura's hits hurt._

"No, no, no," she laughs, shaking her head. "I wasn't inferring abuse, I was thinking… Mr. Sunderland, um… Can I call you James?"

"Sure." He stares, at her face, or tries to.

"I was thinking that… She doesn't get enough affection."

James could've laughed. For once, he actually could've laughed.

"She doesn't want affection." He says boldly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Mrs. Townshend frowns now, eyes sad.

"James, do you ever ask Laura for what she wants?"

James stiffens when he swears he hears Mary's voice in his ear; _No, you don't. You never ask her anything. You abandon her. Why did you bother taking her away if you were planning on leaving her behind? I hate you, James. I hate you so much. What did I see in you? Were you always this cruel and selfish liar, had I been blind?_

"No…" He whispers, casting his gaze on his lap and blinking his tears away. "I'm sorry."

"Let it out, James." Mrs. Townshend reaches over and takes his hand. "It's okay, let it out."

He breaks down, sobbing and crying and he can't keep his fears and emotions bottled up anymore, he's finally burst open.

He was held by Mrs. Townshend for the rest of the conference until she decided that they should leave. James doesn't feel disappointed, not like he would've in the past, especially when seeing the wedding ring on her finger. She advises him to not try harder for Laura, but _to be there._

"Trying isn't good enough anymore," She said. "Now you just _do it_ , or you'll lose her forever."

James wants to think that he lost everything and everyone already, but then he saw Harry waiting for him in the parking lot. He isn't alone. Harry has been there.

"Doesn't someone look worse for wear." Harry teases. "Ready to go, chap?"

"Harry…" James stalks over, "Harry…"

Harry raises his brow when the blond staggers and stops in front of him, and then, he flings his arms around Harry and cries and sobs on his jacket. On his shoulder. Harry pats his back, wondering what it took for the man to finally crack. They drive over to Harry's house, James assumes the car parked by the curb is Cynthia's. They climb out and walk inside. Cynthia is sitting alone in the living room patiently, and when she hears them, she smiles.

"They're asleep in her room." She whispers, then turns her gaze to James and hums. "Who might you be, handsome?"

James can't help hearing Maria in Cynthia's voice.

"No one to be concerned with." Harry mumbles, walking her out after he pays her. She laughs, pecking his cheek and sashaying her way to her car. Harry shuts the door. "Sorry about that. Cynthia is a free spirit."

Something tells James that Harry isn't embarrassed, but a little bit miffed, he wonders why.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Laura, happy birthday to you!" Everyone claps when she blows the candles out in one breath.

"It's present time!" Cynthia exclaims, "Starting from top to bottom."

James and Harry sit back, a little distance from the crowd of children and parents and themselves. James is surprised, he didn't think Harry to be socially awkward.

"I can hold a conversation." Harry scoffs. "It's just… I don't enjoy talking as much as you think that I do."

"Says the one that came up to me." James watches as Laura tears through her presents, grinning. That's the happiest she's looked in her life maybe, and his heart swells. He's happy he's more involved in her life now. Maybe he's beginning to understand the whole fatherhood thing after all.

"How are you holding up?" asks Harry.

"I'm okay," James answers, "I get a few ticks, but it's been a month since my last smoke and drink."

"That's pretty good." Harry pats his back.

"I'm not Mira." James grunts.

They both laugh.

Laura has a new collection of stuffed animals and dolls now. She'll share it with Heather. James doesn't know how to even begin explaining how he ended up moving in with Harry Mason, but he thinks he shouldn't have to explain it. They're good friends. Cynthia doesn't think so.

"That's all we are." James mumbles. "I couldn't afford a house by myself with _my_ job."

"Hmmh…." She simpers, clearing up the mess from the wrapping paper, tissue, and food all on the kitchen table. "Does Harry help you with money?"

"Sometimes I have to ask." He sighs. Well, his pride was bruised since he sheltered Laura. Why not bruise it some more with the babysitter interrogating him? Maybe she'd stop leeching onto him.

"You two are lovers, aren't you?" She asks.

"No, we are not." He groans. "That's the last thing we'll ever be."

"Is that so? Then, you don't mind this, do you?" She strokes his arm, and he feels her warmth. He feels it crawling all over him, and it doesn't feel too unpleasant, but it doesn't feel comfortable. It lacks intimacy, it feels emotionless, desperate even. It's like they're both searching for something that is barely there, if it is at all.

" _But don't you like it, James_?" asks Maria, her breath ghosting his ear.

"I do mind." James murmurs, "I'm sorry, Cynthia. I just don't…"

"That's alright." She smiles softly. "I was hoping you'd pick Mr. Mason."

"...What, no that isn't it!"

She laughs.

"You haven't realized how you felt yet, have you?"

James doesn't know how he feels about Harry, but he knows he feels happy and thankful and a range of other things he can't begin to identify. Is it the same as how he felt for Mary, or is it different?

"I've never been with a man before." James admits.

Harry almost chokes on his tea.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, it's just…" James feels his face heat up. "I… I haven't, so, in case you thought that I have-"

"Why would I wonder that?" asks Harry incredulously, rubbing his temples. "That is the most random thing you've ever said, gods, James."

"Sorry." James feels ashamed, but Harry starts to laugh.

"No, it's hilarious, and I like that."

"Like what?"

"That you are a strange man."

"Says the conspiracy theorist that believes in government cover-ups of UFOs."

"I have seen hell, James Sunderland. There is Silent Hill, and there is the government…"

As much as James pretends to hate Harry's little conspiracy ramblings, he can't help giving him all of his attention and sitting through it anyway, it amuses him.

"Would you two just admit it already?!" Laura groans.

Heather is six, Laura is nine. It's almost Christmas. They're all in the kitchen-dining room. The girls sit at the table, munching on cookies and drinking glasses of milk. Harry washes the dishes, because he only he can wash them in a thorough and effective way that kills the stains, and really, it's more of a; if you want it done right, don't let James Sunderland do it. So James is stuck putting the dishes away instead, but even Harry has to verbally direct him, because he is that bossy. When Laura says it, James almost drops what he's holding.

"Don't you dare." says Harry tersely. "You can be shocked that even the girls know you love me, but do not, do not take it out on my china, James Sunderland."

"Wait a minute!" cries James. "Know?! How do you sound so calm?"

"I accept your feelings, James." Harry glances at him. "How does a movie at home at eleven-thirty sound?"

"It sounds fine…" James sags his shoulders.

The girls exchange pleased looks.

They sit in the darkness of the living room together, the illumination washed over them from the television that changes different color and angle. Harry's hands are holded on his lap, James is still confused. The girls are either watching them from the staircase or with their possible psychic abilities, or they're fast asleep, already anticipating that it goes fine.

"James," Harry says so abruptly that James almost jumps from his seat into space, "this is new to both of us, but I do feel like this can work. With time."

"...Time?" James glances.

Harry smiles, sliding one of his hands into James's experimentally. James blinks, surprised that he doesn't feel repulsed or the lack of intimacy. It feels warm, right, and personal, and comforting, and he thinks that he won't have to sleep with the closet light on, the door a crack, if only Harry is by his side. He'd think he'd feel so ready to leap into this because of how long it's been since he was in any kind of relationship, but then why not Cynthia, the babysitter? Why not Eileen who was a married woman and Laura's school teacher?

He didn't want just anyone or anything, he wanted someone. Someone that understood and that knew the pain he had been feeling since he left that godforsaken town. He sometimes has the same dreams, but they aren't as intense as they once were. Angela is forgiving, Eddie is impatient, Mary is pleased, and both Maria and Pyramid Head have faded into an obscurity that he hopes they stay in forever.

"Time," Harry repeats. "As long as you need, until you're safe and happy again."

There's still a chance for James after all, isn't there? But he knows there wouldn't have been if Harry hadn't been there. He scoots closer, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder and hugging his arm with his free hand. Harry smiles, leaning his head on top of his. Heather and Laura quietly run from the staircase back to their room, feeling victorious and overjoyed.


End file.
